


dichotomy

by jVnKy30MkVn



Category: NCT (Band), WAYV
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Canon Compliant, Crossdressing, Gen, M/M, Minor Dong Si Cheng | WinWin/Qian Kun, Qian Kun-centric, Self-Esteem Issues, Weight Issues, not beta read we die like my will to live at age 8
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-19
Updated: 2021-03-23
Packaged: 2021-03-23 19:35:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 12,049
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30060498
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jVnKy30MkVn/pseuds/jVnKy30MkVn
Summary: It sprouted from what Kun considered to be morbid curiousity, a gross interest, but the moment he got a taste of the feeling it became all that could keep him afloat.Alternatively; Kun discovers that wearing female clothing makes him feel pretty, even if he always thinks he looks fat.
Comments: 4
Kudos: 25





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> yes another fic in the kun tag where the author is self-projecting lmao but also? this is mixed in with the idea that kun would look beautiful in a skirt/dress because he would and i don't take criticism.
> 
> mind you, this will primarily tackle issues like self-image/worth and eating disorders but also crossdressing.
> 
> i'm thinking of making it without a romantic relationship involved but if i end up doing winkun then uh i'm sorry? anyway i'm kinda just rolling with the punches and writing when i need to vent lmao okay bye
> 
> update from me who finished writing the whole thing a few days later: my adhd ass ended up hyperfixating on it and it's complete now so i'll be posting once every two days if i remember lol i'll edit once it's all up

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> https://youtu.be/uvXYYFO7h0Q

His skull was a nest and his thoughts the frenzied hornets within, stirring and buzzing constantly but savagely bashing themselves against the interior with no way out when particular things happened or at particular times. Though, perhaps they'd clash so fervently with the knowledge that they would find freedom eventually, be it from a breakdown in the shower where the sound of water drained out choked cries, from overworking the body they inhabited until the very bones that held it upright felt to be made of twigs, or through the food they forcefully emptied from its stomach, acid burning at the tormented tongue and throat as tears pooled in dimly lit eyes.

It was an infestation Kun could never rid himself of － it had been for years.

Sometimes he'd go months without more than a couple stings, birth a newfound hope that maybe he was healing, and then he'd stumble and snap, silently pleading for help he didn't truly think he deserved.

His good months had passed, he came to understand as he begrudgingly left WayV's dorm feeling a greater discomfort than usual. He could have sworn his joggers were tighter, that his once faintly toned stomach was then soft and beginning to curve over the sides of his pants' waistband, that his thighs looked fuller and his hands less defined, his cheeks rounder and jaw hidden.

Kun looked fat. So fat. He could see it in the mirror.

That morning he'd almost caved and pulled out the secret weight scale he'd kept hidden under his bed and until then briefly disregarded, but he reined in his desire to expose himself for the pig he believed himself to be and blinked away his tears of frustration.

He and the other members would be practicing all day, if he even stayed behind and did a bit extra, he might shed some calories. It was that notion that brought mild comfort and for him to faintly smile, heading out ignoring the repeated twinge in his stomach that had begun to whine the night before, empty save for the water he'd drunk and half an apple he'd allowed himself to eat.

"You're finally here!" Dejun briskly greeted from his seat in one of the vans, the haze of sleep evident in his eyes that cast a frustrated look the leader's way.

Of course, Kun merely huffed with a strained smile and proceeded to climb into the group's van, nestling himself between Sicheng and YangYang, both welcoming him with fond and grateful looks upon seeing that he carried the small bag he always used to bring the food he prepared for the members in his hands.

"I didn't notice you cooking this morning," Sicheng spoke up, nudging his head in direction of the bag, "I would have tried to help out, otherwise."

It was typical of the younger to say something so sweet with little to no other motive beneath it, simply earnest and sincere, but it always brought Kun's heart to mildly stutter for whatever reason.

Maybe being the bearer of dozens of responsibilities and chores had worn him down enough that every kind gesture made his pulse quicken. That is to say, the members did pull their weight, but mostly when they felt like it or when Kun was particularly overwhelmed enough that it was visible. He didn't mind, of course, he had no right to. They all worked hard and deserved to rest when they could. They were all valuable members of the group, be it for their skill in rap, song or dance, their spots within the structure were untouchable.

Kun's was flimsy, replaceable, dismissable. If he didn't make himself useful in whatever way he could, then his presence truly would have served no purpose whatsoever.

"It's fine," He replied in mild delay, sight flickering from his lap to Sicheng who remained gazing at him, the engine revving and the vehicle quivering to life, "I couldn't sleep last night so I prepared the food then."

"Is it to share or all for you?" Yukhei quipped, a boyish grin on his mouth as his chuckle blended in with those of a few others.

The bleached-blond gave a theatrical roll of his eyes, prior to throwing a sideways glance at the younger male to his opposite left.

"Ha ha, so funny,"

 _That stung a bit_ , Was what he would have liked to say.

"Keep teasing me and I'll give your portion to the staff."

The threat did its part instantly, Yukhei's palms coming together with a resounding clap as he bowed his head and sputtered profuse apologies, spewing some spiel of praise that tasted bitter to the leader regarding the marvellous qualities of his cooking and how he'd be blessed to have a sole bite.

It had everyone laughing, Kun's ears even going a tad bit rosey, but he told himself it was just Yukhei being silly and grossly exaggerating, probably because his food wasn't even that good in the first place. Maybe that's why everyone was laughing, they had some kind of inside joke about sarcastically complimenting his cooking when it was actually subpar.

No. No, he shouldn't think of the members to be so vile.

"As if I would leave you without proper food, Xuxi."

He hadn't realised he'd spoken, almost as though a part of his brain registered he hadn't replied to the imposing spewage of praise yet and decided to do so automatically.

"Aw, Mama Kun," Came Kunhang's taunting input from the front seat, prompting a set of coos and kissy faces in Kun's direction, to which he groaned and whined, lightly shoving YangYang － who was playfully snuggling into his side and nuzzling his head into his chest － away, warning the youngest under his breath that he'd mess up his already sleep-tousled hair.

"I swear, one of these days I'll stop taking care of your meals if you keep calling me that," He baselessly warned, knowing full well that the guilt would eat him alive within twelve hours of doing so. It was common knowledge, apparently, as all the members seemed not daunted in the slightest by his words.

Yukhei entertained the idea, however, almost challengingly raising his chin, "And what, you'd cook only for yourself?"

"More for him, oink oink!"

***

  
Every member in the group had their own sense of fashion, ranging from torn jeans and grunge hoodies, to loose shirts and slim trousers, pieced together in ways that were intriguing enough to make Kun's eyes linger. Sicheng dressed simply, t-shirts and joggers mostly, but there was something about how the material draped over his lithe figure that had a puddle of sweltering heat bubble in the eldest's stomach.

His collarbones would protrude and cast faint shadows down the top of his shirt, occassionally peek out to fully display the deep dip above them, his shoulders would be angular and sharp, capable of showing every movement in his joints in a way that made the dancer appear doll-like.

Kun wished he looked the same. He wished his collarbones were prominent and the fronts of his tops didn't accentuate the meat on his chest and biceps. He wished his every raise of an arm made him look delicate and pretty, light.

Then there were times he wished he looked like Yukhei.

Yukhei wasn't muscular to the point of bulging pectorals and hefty calves, his body was still slender and long, but his limbs were steadily adorned by well-defined muscles, sinking and rising in smooth hills beneath his tan skin, flexing whenever he even so mildly tensed.

There were times Kun wished he could look strong and powerful like Yukhei.

Admittedly, he'd initially tried to imitate how his members dressed. Perhaps if he wore similar clothing he could somehow emulate the same energy they gave off, but Sicheng's thin t-shirts only accentuated his shapeless arms and rounded chest, and Yukhei's fitted pants only made his thighs look so much thicker.

It was then, staring at his reflection in the full-length mirror in the bedroom he shared with his two band mates, eyes dewy with unshed tears but burning with despise for what he saw, that he decided that no matter how he dressed, he was ugly. His body was ugly.

He wasn't tall, he wasn't muscular, he wasn't lanky, he wasn't attractive. He was all soft curves and soft flesh, pinchable and shapeless.

His left hand held up the shirt he wore as his right gripped at his stomach, fisting the meat between his fingers, squeezing and tugging, the idea of ripping it all off briefly flashing across his mind until the door abruptly clicked open and Dejun came hopping in, large grin on his face that only partially faded at the look of vaguely masked horror that dawned on his leader's features.

"Kun?" He spoke, as if to break the short-lived silence, watching from the doorway as said male hurriedly dropped his shirt over his torso and went to fix his hair, "Are you sick? A stomacheache?"

Kun was quick to shake his head no, flippantly waving the younger's concerns off.

"I was just changing," He answered, not daring to meet Dejun's sharp eyes.

Whether it had clicked for the other that his leader was still in the same outfit as before and he'd elected on ignoring it or not remained a mystery, but fortunately enough Dejun was willing to drop any further inquiries.

"Did you need something?" It was a thinly veiled indicator for Dejun to either speak or leave, and he blinked himself into focus at the subtle push.

"Ah, yeah! We're settling in for a movie night, starting in a few minutes," He informed, and with almost perfect timing was punctuated by a shout from the living room telling them to hurry over, "I wanted to see if you would join?"

Kun was about to nod, the edges of his lips curling, and then,

"We've opened up a bunch of snacks too!"

His thoughts halted, Dejun's silly expression with wiggling eyebrows and a happy smile blurring as only his words played through Kun's mind. Did Dejun feel the need to coerce the older with the notion of food because he thought the leader was incapable of saying no to it? Did he think Kun was some sort of food vacuum? He must think Kun's fat.

He was though, wasn't he? He struggled to stop himself from eating most of the time, caving in after a day or two only to stuff himself to the point of nausea and cry about it in the shower later.

"Give － Give me a second and I'll come," He eventually ripped out of his vocal cords, grimacing in a way he hoped was at least akin to a smile.

Dejun gave a little cheer and sprinted off, his muffled voice blending in with those of the rest once he reached the TV, loud and excited and free.

Kun struggled to stop himself from eating, so he'd have to hide the effects of it. He had to hide his gross body from the eyes of the public, his friends, himself.

He snatched a worn hoodie from the edge of his bed and slid it over his head, tugging it over his flabby stomach and along his stumpy arms.

It was large, hanging over his torso and nearly reaching the middle of his thick thighs, completely masking his plump hands. It must have been because it was Yukhei's and he was more built and buff.

Kun liked it, though. It swamped out the fat on his body, almost made him look smaller, feel smaller, and he tugged the baggy end of it just a bit farther down his thighs.

He decided, until he could lose enough weight he'd wear as many layers as he could of loose clothing, oversized trousers and sweatshirts, anything to not let other eyes see the shameful figure hidden beneath.

***

  
It was that very same decision that had him profusely sweating and breathless after that day's practice session. His hair stuck in white strands to his pale, glistening forehead, his cheeks dyed hues of red and pink, his lungs heaving for breaths. The beat of his heart was all he could hear, save for the distant-sounding chatter of the other members, cleaning up after themselves and finishing off going over a couple sections in the choreography they wanted to perfect.

"Ge, you're sweating buckets," Kunhang commented, suddenly appearing at the leader's side with a clean towel in offering, "Why don't you take off that top and cool down a bit?"

The fervent shake of his leader's head had his eyebrows briefly drawing together in befuddlement, head tilting as he watched Kun gratefully accept the towel and dab his neck and face dry.

He felt to be under scrutiny then, when his mind grew less foggy as oxygen properly flowed to it again, and scarcely met the brunet's stare prior to returning to patting himself off.

"I'm fine," Kun eventually muttered, voice raspy and worn, almost like a crinkled sheet of paper, "Are you guys going to the dorm now?"

Kunhang hummed, the question derailing whatever prior thought he was having － much to Kun's relief － as he jerked his head in direction of the other members who were packing up their bags, occassionally throwing a sentence back and forth.

"Yeah, I'm pretty sure we're all too tired to go anywhere else now," He returned to look at Kun whose breathing was still oddly laboured, "We're hungry and it's getting late. We should all go."

Kun made a sound of agreement, flopped the small towel over his shoulder and stretched his arms.

"That's good," He replied, facing the wall mirror so that he wouldn't meet the other's stare that appeared more intent than usual, "Dinner is in the oven, you just need to heat it up. There's some leftover from lunch in the fridge too."

"What? You're staying behind today as well?"

A pause, Kun's stomach acid churning on itself, and he hoped to whatever entity that it didn't growl right then.

"I need to tidy up my parts a bit more," He dared a glance at Kunhang, which was far from a good idea considering the glimpse of concern and the start of a protest he could see form on his lips, "I won't stay late, don't worry."

"But ge －"

"Guys, the van's outside!"

It was Ten's call that cut Kunhang off and brought the both of them back to the entirety of reality, only to notice that the team's choreographers and the majority of the members had left the studio, Ten and YangYang being the only ones waiting by the exit.

"Coming!" Kunhang replied, prior to refocusing his attention on Kun, "Are you sure you want to stay?"

Kun hated it, that tone of concern, that mellow look dotted with a silent plea, that sympathetic gaze. They should be his alone to direct at the others, to care and look after his members, not vice-versa. He shouldn't worry the younger ones, not as their leader.

He made himself smile, even giving a mild chuckle and a half-hearted push to Kunhang's chest.

"I'm sure," He asserted, urging the male to leave, "You don't need to worry."

Kunhang seemed to hold a brief internal debate and then hummed, smiling.

"Alright, I'll tell the guys to save you some food for when you come back."

"Uh, no, you don't need to. I'll grab something from the store."

The younger momentarily hesitated and for an instance Kun panicked that he'd put up a fight, but the former shot him a thumbs up, picked up his bag and jogged towards Ten. Kun could only pick up on certain words, "staying back," "practice," "food at home," and then Ten was giving him a quick wave goodbye and leaving, shutting the studio's door after them.

In the silence that drowned Kun within the four, gleaming white walls, harsh lights and static of the speakers, his stomach finally begged aloud for food.

He hit at it with a frown.

"Just another hour."


	2. Chapter 2

Kun had grown accustomed to wearing bulky clothing, his figure nothing but bunches in the hefty materials, so much so that the other members no longer questioned him practicing in a sweatshirt and hoodie anymore whilst they wore their thinnest t-shirts, or him donning baggy sweaters over his pajama top within the dorm, more often borrowing Yukhei and Kunhang's clothing to cover himself better.

They stopped questioning the fact that he stayed behind in the studio more frequently than before and that he almost never ate with them, promising he'd grab something from the store on the way back and that they could eat all he'd pre-cooked for them without him.

They stopped questioning the fact that he looked more feeble, meek, drowsy. They stopped questioning his refusal to eat snacks, typically accompanied by a flash of disgust across his irises, and they stopped questioning his showers that consistently took longer.

What happened inside the bathroom was between him, the scale and the toilet. Some things were better left unknown.

It was, subsequently, the very habit of hiding his body that was one of the principal reasons for the sheer terror and confusion that crashed down upon him when the idea first came to mind.

WayV's comeback date had been fixed, their album prepared, their concept perfected, their choreographies practiced. All that was left was the shooting of the video, and it was then, amidst the bustling and chattering, that yet another pillar within Kun's mind began to crumble.

He'd been handed his first outfit, a pile of colours and textures that were somewhat sore to the eyes when crumpled in such a manner within his arms, but he diligently bowed to the stylist and took off for the changing area, loitering around outside it until the other members finished up and went to get their make-up done; he refused to undress before anybody but himself.

Kun had just set the clothing down on one of the short benches, slid off his jumper and sweatshirt and tossed them to the ground with the intention of neatly folding them later, when a sliver of oddly cut material was caught in his peripheral vision.

He stilled, expression bleak, and then stiffly looked down to the outfit he'd been given.

He must have been seeing wrong, at least, that's what he initially thought until a tentative hand reached towards the pile and tugged at the black cloth. The jacket set on top of it toppled to his feet but he could do nothing but ignore it as he found himself holding a skirt － a short, black, simple skirt with a stitched-in wide belt.

He blinked until his stupor faded. Why was his heart thundering so feverishly in his ears? Clearly the garment must have been used or planned for a female artist under his same company and somehow slipped into his set outfit for the day's shoot.

It wasn't intended for him, he knew that with certainty, and yet, after a tense moment's apprehension, he held the skirt up before his face and gave it a thorough look.

Would it － Would it fit him?

His sight darted to the reflection he was adjusted to avoiding on a daily basis, his pale chest that looked so mountainous and his stomach that looked so pudgy, and then back to the skirt. He had forgotten to breathe, he realised when his body took a shuddering inhale sharp enough to sting his nose.

He shouldn't have, but he couldn't stop himself from lowering the skirt to his waist and having it hover over his hips, his mind creating a mental image where he didn't wear baggy jeans underneath that tarnished the skirt's sweet appearance.

"Filming starts within the next half hour!"

His body jolted at the faraway announcement and within seconds he had shut off his mind, going into automatic as he hurriedly got changed. Whether he had put much thought into the fact that he'd tucked the skirt between his then folded stack of personal clothing or not, he wouldn't answer.

It was just curiousity. That's it.

***

  
Days blurred together, only brought to a conclusive fullstop at past each midnight, when he'd finally return to the dorm to find a good portion of his band mates already asleep and he could go to the bathroom for a shower, slip out the scale that had found home under the sink and scowl at the numbers it displayed.

Over the past two months his weight had supposedly diminished by what could be considered a decent amount, but when he'd go to confirm it visually, daring to pull his hoodies off and joggers down, he'd see nothing but the same horrid curves, lumps of excess flesh and round face.

His fingers gripped at the sink's rim until the skin that stretched over his boney knuckles turned a creamy white, the remains of whatever natural muscle he had trembling as tears silently dripped along his cheeks and off the tip of his nose.

He couldn't understand; if he was losing weight why didn't it look like it? Why was his stomach always aching, his head often spinning, his knees buckling, if he wasn't actually achieving anything? Could it be that what was happening before was repeating itself; his perception of his reflection being distorted? No. No, he could feel the pressure between the fat on his thighs when he sat, could feel the fat on his belly bounce when he danced, he hadn't lost any of it at all.

Maybe the apples he hate had too many calories, and he'd binged those few nights, stuffing himself with chocolates and crisps from his stash of snacks he didn't have the inner strength to get rid of.

He had to do more. He had to －

A sharp knock came from the opposite side of the bathroom door and Kun instinctively dug his teeth into his bottom lip in case any of his pathetic whimpers came out loud enough to be heard.

"Ge, are you almost ready? I need to pee."

It was YangYang, in his weary, soft voice, addled by sleep and worn out after the extensive promotion period's end, and Kun dug the heels of his palms in his eyes, willing the tears away.

"I'm coming out in a minute, sorry."

How long had he been in there for? What time was it? He was certain that the youngest had already been in bed when he'd gone in, he hadn't woken him had he? No, otherwise the brunet would have brought it up.

Kun released his eyesockets from the pressure of his hands and steadied himself against the wall by the mirror as he briefly lost his balance, black blotches obscuring his vision for a handful of seconds until his sight cleared.

After speedily dressing himself, he unlocked the door and gave the boy waiting outside it an apologetic smile, freeing one of his hands to ruffle his hair. YangYang let out a quiet whine at the action but made no move to stop him, allowing himself to be fondly babied for a moment before Kun spoke in a hushed whisper.

"Sorry for letting you wait. It's all yours now."

YangYang's squinted eyes briefly stuck to Kun's own, scarcely processing the reddened rims and chalking it up to be due to exhaustion.

" 't's fine, Kun-ge," He stepped into the bathroom and paused to throw a hum of "Goodnight," over his shoulder before shutting the door.

Kun's smile dimmed. He couldn't remember if he'd put the scale away or not.

***

By then, it had been a month since the skirt had come into his possession but he'd hardly thought of it － or allowed himself to － what with the group's packed schedule and the unease that crawled under his skin everytime he set his gaze upon the bottom drawer in the bedroom's closet where it was hidden.

  
He was alone that afternoon, however. The members had gone out to celebrate having some freedom again but he'd declined, saying he had to get back to producing seeing as how he'd been too busy recently to get any work done. They'd believed him, of course, because Kun was typically in his studio preparing something most of the time anyway, it just so happened that that one day it was a half-lie.

He did fully intend on working on one of his tracks later on, but before then he had to satiate his curiousity once and for all, prove to himself that a skirt would look far from good on him and that he should toss it away to never have a similar thought again.

It was how he found himself seated on his made bed, fully naked save for his briefs and a white t-shirt, breathing accelerated and stare fixated on the cursed garment with his mind whizzing about like a burst balloon.

 _He shouldn't_ , was all that kept repeating in his head. _Men don't wear skirts, especially not fat men._

But the cloth was soft, undulated and tempting. Besides, it was black. That's not too girly, is it? He'd even cosplayed as Snow White before, wig and all, so why would this be any different?

 _Because this isn't a cheap costume just for fun,_ a voice of reason spoke, reverberating within his skull, _it's supposed to make you look pretty._

 _It's supposed to make a girl pretty,_ he countered.

There was silence surrounding him, his fingers itching to reach for the cloth, but there was a fraction of paranoia within him that made him question if the members would suddenly walk in and see him trying on a skirt, with his trunk-like legs and lovehandles going over its waistband.

In the spur of the moment, he surprised himself by throwing caution to the wind, snatching up the skirt and lifting his feet to slip them into it.

"It won't fit, it won't fit, it won't fit."

He had stood, nudging the skirt gradually up his calves and knees, hesitating at his thighs because gosh, maybe he was too fat for it, but the skirt kept sliding up over his skin, gliding over his hips and nestling over his waist.

His breathing halted, his eyes stared at his hands that clutched the band of the skirt then around his stomach.

"It fits."

The tone was incredulous, and mixed into the concoction of adrenaline and nerves was a wave of relief, euphoria, an inexplicable excitement.

He shouldn't be happy that a skirt fits him, but his sight was already snapping in direction of the room's full-length mirror and his bare feet padded across the carpet towards it without his consent. The flutter of the skirt's waves against his skin felt nothing like what the cheap costume he'd worn had. It was feather-light and almost ticklish, creating a faint breeze between his thighs as he walked. It made him feel somewhat graceful.

Kun stopped before his reflection almost eager to see himself, which in and of itself was a strange change in comparison to the past couple months, but he couldn't spare it much attention as he blinked into processing what he looked like.

It was simple on its own, paired with nothing but a crumpled shirt, but the effect it had on Kun had his world spinning. He could have sworn his legs looked a bit longer, his waist a bit narrower. He felt pretty, handsome, or possibly cute? Either way, his eyes took on a cast of miniscule diamonds, shining in the afternoon sun that poured in like liquid honey from the bedroom window and dripped over his skin with a warmth he didn't perceive before.

He stared at himself, he didn't know for how long, but he was smiling. He looked at himself and smiled.

Kun felt pretty, and just that little bit less fat.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tw: purging  
> from 《As soon as he was out of their line of vision he jogged to the bathroom, . . .》 to《Waiting a minute or two, . . .》
> 
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Z9sliXzD5Jc

The aromatic vapour rising up towards his face tinted his sunken cheeks with a strawberry pink, gave a sheen of condensation to his forehead and spurred the dull pain constantly present in his stomach to increase. Kun was leaning over the pan where he was finishing up the stir fry his members would be eating with a serving of rice for their main dinner that night, probably whilst watching one of the dramas or films they'd written to their lists.

It smelt good, he decided, doing his utmost to ignore the internal question of when he'd last eaten a proper meal.

He could already hear the playful banter going on in the living room, television still playing some variety show whilst Dejun and Kunhang's laughter meshed over it. The heat from his cooking admittedly made him feel a tad dizzy, his eyelids heavier to keep open and his hand stiffer to move.

Maybe he could allow himself a couple bites? Even just to see if it needed any tweaking. The idea seemingly awakened the beast in his belly for it grumbled in eagerness, but before he could finish blowing on the chopped veg in his spoon, merely hovering inches from his pursed lips, the sound of thundering footsteps brought his action to a halt and he stilled, turning to find a smiling Ten peeking around the wall.

He was caught. He was caught about to cave and stuff his face like a pig.

"It's about to start," Ten announced, distracting Kun from his moment of panicked disarray, "I wanted to ask when the food'll be ready."

Kun blinked dumbly, robotically glancing to the sizzling pan and approximating the remaining cooking time by appearance.

"Another five minutes, maximum," He tried to return his sight to the dancer, but even with his head turned in the latter's direction his eyes fixated the wall next to his face instead, "You can go on ahead without me."

Ten scoffed, shaking his head, "Nah, we'll wait," Butterflies flit about within Kun's tummy at that, "It smells great, leave some for the rest of us!"

And he was gone as quick as he'd come, high voice announcing to everyone else that the food was almost ready, earning a row of zealous cheers in response.

Kun wondered what it was like to be able to so openly and freely cheer at the idea of eating. Then again, he was about to steal food from the very mouths of his members and the shame and guilt was enough to shoot his desire to eat dead. He would presume the food tasted fine, it smelled okay and the sauce looked good. He didn't need to taste it.

Manually filling his lungs with a steady influx of air, doing his best to normalise his breathing that had so easily quickened with fear, he returned his attention to the food, giving it a good stir around prior to reaching for the plates.

"Ge, need any help?"

He startled, his already weak grip on the dishes momentarily slipping before Kunhang's larger, more nimble hand could enclose over his own and prevent the plates from crashing to the floor. He gulped, the loud noise bouncing against his eardrums until Kunhang's somewhat amused laughter replaced it.

"Sorry, I shouldn't have crept up on you."

Kun joined in with a strangled chuckle of his own, eyes intent on the kitchen counter as he got back to work.

"No, no, it's fine," He mumbled reassuringly, having given his back to the younger to avoid meeting his look but allowing himself to be subject to the fiery heat of it at the back of his neck instead, "my fault."

It was added absent-mindedly, Kun far too distracted and struggling to stay alert.

There was the sound of shifting behind him, socks tapping across tiles and then a warm arm was rubbing against Kun's, and the latter turned to stone, pupils honing in on the knob he'd just turned to switch off the gas.

Could Kunhang feel the difference in their arms? Could he feel the softness of Kun's?

"You look tired, ge," The male, whose pink hair had washed out to a rose gold and whose sharp cheekbones cast clear shadows over his face － Kun wished his face did that － whispered, "Let me take the plates to the guys. You can sit."

Kun's lashes fluttered, his head turning and tilting ever so minimally to meet the other's soft smile.

"I － I look tired?"

His tongue felt to be made of sandpaper, his throat closing in on itself so much that he couldn't manage a swallow.

"And pale," Kunhang added, the curl still present on his lips, though somehow with the ghost of something Kun couldn't quite discern tainting it, "You're not sick, right?"

Kun could hear nothing else; anything that wasn't him, Kunhang and the very words they spoke, fully dissipating to fog he couldn't process. He had to watch what he said.

"No, I'm perfectly fine," His words were flat, his face deadpan, no true hint of a lie or honesty present, "I didn't sleep much last night. Maybe that's why."

A moment ensued during which Kun felt his every twitch of a muscle and each shaky breath to be under intense analysis, scrutinised for a flaw that would give him away.

The entire time, they held one another's stare. Had the context been any different, Kun's face would have flushed strong enough to be comparable to a STOP sign, but right then, he didn't even believe his heart was pumping at all, let alone strong enough for blood to colour his cheeks.

Kunhang finally went to speak, voice carried by a whisp of a breath to Kun's ears, so silent that had one of the other members been a bit louder in that moment, the words would have been inaudible.

"You know, me and Sicheng were talking last time. He thinks you've lost a lot of weight recently and told me he's worried. You're fine, aren't you?"

The bomb had dropped just as lead did in Kun's stomach. He turned away, reached out for a plate and began filling it with food.

"Of course I am. Here, wait until I give you the second one and then start taking them to the guys."

Perhaps his deflection was obvious, Kunhang apparently wary to drop the subject so easily, but obediently doing as told nonetheless.

After a couple trips back and forth, he returned to find Kun with a sole plate in hand and he instinctively frowned.

"Where's yours?"

"I ate while cooking, I'm already full," Kun lied with an ease well-practiced when it came to such phrases.

"But was it enough?" Kunhang insisted, taking his plate whilst doing so.

It seemed Sicheng had successfully planted a seed of doubt in the younger's mind which would only make things more complicated than they needed to be.

Kun nodded, patted his belly and smiled.

"I'm stuffed, really."

They didn't share any more words, turning off the kitchen light to transfer to the lounge where everyone else was gathered, all tangled limbs and snuggling bodies only illuminated by the television's waiting screen.

"Let's get started!" Yukhei announced, hungrily taking the first bite of his food, and Kun felt himself smile as he came to notice that every member had waited for him to arrive before eating, as though he were important enough to wait for. It was little actions like these that had his chest brimming with molten gratitude that dripped from between his lips and painted his face with genuine happiness.

The declarations and exclaimed compliments directed at Kun for the meal he prepared had his heart soaring and his face glowing pink, chin dipped towards his chest, bashful. The cheery sensation however, didn't last much longer, for as Kun burrowed into the spot Sicheng had saved for him between himself and Ten on the couch, the former was quick to note the lack of a dinner in the leader's hold and his delicate features instantly hardened.

"Are you not eating?"

The question had attracted some curious eyes and pricked at some ears, but it was Kunhang who replied over his shoulder through a mouthful of food, "He said he ate while cooking."

An eyebrow arched upon the smooth canvas of Sicheng's forehead, not that Kun could see it, for he was determined to act distracted by the starting scene of the film that had been eventually selected through a rivetting game of rock-paper-scissors.

"Do you want some of mine, ge? We can share."

Kun shook his head, still refusing to look anywhere but ahead, "No thanks, I'm －"

And his stomach let out a pitiful whine, loud enough to be heard over the background music playing, loud enough that both Ten and Dejun shot him inquisitive stares that seemed to glow in the coloured lighting cast upon their figures. Distractedly, Kun noted how their features were accentuated by such light, looked sharper and more defined.

Wordlessly, Sicheng held up a small bite of his food and hovered it before Kun's tightly drawn lips.

"Eat, please."

Kind and sincere, _as always_ , Kun thought, though now with a hint of resentment. If Sicheng weren't so sweet, if he weren't so soothing, then maybe Kun could have stubbornly declined and saved himself from the pain later on, but he didn't, wouldn't, couldn't, and he was quite sure Sicheng was aware of this as the younger watched with a faint, pleased smile as he took the food into his mouth and chewed.

He regretted it, of course. The instant the flavourful veg landed on his tongue tears welled in his eyes, but he merely turned away and focused on the film, having to swallow down the bile rising in his throat and the growing nausea that followed suit. He could feel Sicheng still watching him, fully dismissing the film itself and giving the leader's every timid chew his undivided attention, so he did his best to gulp the bite down, to let the water in his eyes dry up, because crying wasn't an option, at least not then, and Kun would never let it be in front his members.

"Here," Sicheng said once he gave Kun a moment's breath after his first swallow, and Kun could have broken down.

_Why are you making me eat? I'm not like you, I can't eat like you. I'm going to get fatter. Stop, stop, stop. Please._

He opened his mouth and accepted the food despite the whirlwind of desperation and panic his mind was succumbing to, eyes locking with Sicheng's for an infinitesimal second, bringing his heart to shrivel like a dead plant under the smouldering August sun.

For Sicheng. He had to take in a couple more calories for Sicheng. It made him look irrevocably happy, calm and fond. He had to do it so that he could keep such an expression on his statuesque face.

He ignored the additional fact that a part of him was having a moment of triumph at the sensation of eating proper food, with sauce and oil, potent with a taste other than that of apples and grapes.

Thankfully, Kun's stomach didn't growl again and after taking in a fifth of Sicheng's serving, he was able to convince the younger that he should start eating and that he had truly had his fill. Maybe he came off as desperate and Sicheng took pity on him, but the latter gave a solemn nod and turned to the television screen for the first time since Kun had come, eventually starting to bring his fork to his own mouth.

It had taken a while for the food he'd ingested to fully hit his taut stomach, but once it did an audible gag almost slipped out of him, his body nearly lurching forward at the sensation of being uncomfortably full. He had to hold it in, he had to. At least until the end of the film.

He took a quick glance around, checking on who was still awake at that moment, the 3/4 checkpoint of it, and felt relief come over him as YangYang, Yukhei and Sicheng had visibly dozed off and Dejun was close to doing the same on Kunhang's shoulder. Ten was still intent on the story being portrayed but Kun supposed he wouldn't get suspicious of anything if he just mumbled something about needing the bathroom, and so he did just that, receiving an absent nod in response and being peered around as he momentarily blocked the view of the screen he tiptoed past.

As soon as he was out of their line of vision he jogged to the bathroom, shut and locked the door after himself and checked his appearance in the mirror. It was ridiculous, impossible, but he could swear his face was looking fuller already and the sight had his upset stomach do somersaults, having him painfully drop to his knees and crawl to the open toilet bowl, clutching at it with a mute and steady stream of tears voyaging along the cheeks he hated.

He heeved and cried, sputtered and coughed as all he'd ingested he forcibly brought up and out of his system, hoping that the noise of the television was enough to drown out the disgusting sounds he made in the process, until all that left him was acid that burned his throat and tongue, dribbling along his chin and blending with the salt water from his eyes. Kun used what little strength he had to dry them, patting his sensitive skin with the sleeve of his hoodie, ignoring the way the room was swirling around him and his hands trembled on his thighs.

Waiting a minute or two, he began to hear the ending credits' soundtrack playing, the music travelling along the hall and seeping in from beneath the bathroom door. He had to get out. He wouldn't have the time to completely rid the room of the smell but he flushed the toilet, proceeded to wash his hands and mouth with an excessive amount of soap and hoped that the floral scent would counter the pungent sting of his vomit.

"Ge, are you going to take long?"

It was Kunhang, Kun's mind told him, and after giving himself a rapid check he unlocked the door and swung it open with a smile.

"I'm out," He redundantly announced, "Are the others up?"

Kunhang gave a guttural yawn before replying, scratching at the nape of his neck, "Ten said to let them sleep there. He doesn't want to deal with them being grumpy. I think he went to get a few blankets or something."

Nodding in understanding, vaguely processing the fact that he'd have the bedroom for himself, Kun patted Kunhang on the back and offered a smile.

"Okay, goodnight then."

"Goodnight, ge."

And the bathroom door closed in his face, all warmth leaving his features as he turned and walked to his room, eager to shut himself inside and be alone for a while. As he'd anticipated, sleep simply refused to take him into its embrace, his heavy head merely sunken into the pillow and buzzing with thoughts as he stared at the white ceiling with a dim circular form of light originating from the bedside lamp he'd left on.

He kept thinking and thinking, wondering whether he'd waited too long before getting rid of his dinner or if he'd made it in time. He should have.

He could check, actually, couldn't he?

His eyes flit about in the semi-darkness and settled on the drawer in which he'd tucked away his skirt and never touched again. Maybe he should try it on, see if it still fit, see if it still made him look thinner. With his sight briefly flickering to his closed bedroom door and his ears not picking up on any noise on the other side of it, he rolled his quilt off himself and stood on unsteady legs, trudging his way towards the closet with a concoction of trepidation and determination sizzling beneath his skin and behind his eyes.

Kun pushed past his moment of apprehension upon reaching the drawer, pulling it open from its handles and rummaging beneath old sheets to get to the garment that soon poked out at him like a daisy in a road of dark gravel. He grabbed it with careful hands, slid down his pajama bottoms and rolled the skirt up his legs in their place. It was a bit cold to have his legs bare at that time, especially after having been in thick, fuzzy pants, but he didn't mind it too much, smoothening the material out with his palms and adjusting it around his waist, making sure there were no up-turned parts to the fine hem around the bottom before he dared to stand across the mirror.

It was too dark to see himself as clearly as he did during the day, but even in the yellow glow of the singular lightbulb that was on he could see that his legs looked elongated, less curved and somehow pretty, even if he had on a pair of old navy blue socks that bunched around his ankles. Even his ankles looked daintier. Be it delusion or the effects of excessive shadows, Kun was utterly enraptured by the power the skirt possessed over his appearance, by how comfortable and cute he felt in it, and it was at that instant that a part of his brain latched onto the comfort this realisation gave him, that one piece of clothing becoming a floating buoy for him to clutch onto during raging seas for a long time to come.


	4. Chapter 4

It became a habit then, a safety net, a band-aid to apply over his wounds that only ever partially healed until they'd scab over, he fell again and bled, subsequently restarting the process. Almost every day he'd put on his skirt for a few minutes － careful not to be caught － and admire how it looked on him. He'd smile and twirl, take photos of himself he always made sure to delete afterwards, and it made him happy to such an extent that he was dubious about him liking the skirt solely for how it made his legs and tummy look. Even when he wouldn't have himself facing a mirror, simply sitting on his bed and swinging his legs or laying comfortably on his back and scrolling through his phone for a bit, he felt more at ease than he had in a long while in his own skin.

It was once wearing a skirt became a secret normality for him that his mind began to wander. Would all skirts have this booster effect on his appearance or was it just this one? Would dresses also look nice? He couldn't help but imagine countless skirts hanging in his side of the closet and a couple dresses splitting them up, maybe with mellow colours and patterns in the mix instead of a simple black like he currently owned. He didn't need to limit himself, right?

He was in his producing studio then, drink cup in his one hand, sipping iced water through the metal straw whilst his eyes skimmed through a clothing site in search of the first female clothing he would actually buy for himself. It was a bit nerve-inducing, thinking he was making such decisions with no prior experience and having to calculate which size would fit best, but he'd done his fair amount of research.

For example he knew to steer clear of long skirts unless you're tall and slender because they'd make you look to be shorter and wider, and he knew that high-waisted ones helped make your legs appear longer and torso narrower, especially if they had a bit of an outward flair towards the bottom.

Kun felt as though he knew what he wanted, but also didn't. The options and colours and styles were endless and he soon found himself overwhelmed, floundering through dozens of pages. Settling on a plaid skater skirt and a somewhat wavy bell-shaped one, he put in his card information and name, but found himself abruptly stilling at the blinking empty spaces requesting a delivery address.

He definitely couldn't risk it going to the WayV dorm whilst he wasn't around and have one of the boys opening it, so amidst the rapidly instilling panic, he scrambled for what to do. He could have it sent to the 127 dorm and ask Taeil to keep it safe for him. The two of them didn't talk much but Taeil wouldn't ask any questions nor would he go blabber about Kun's mysterious package. He was trustworthy and, hopefully, probably willing to be of help.

It took Kun a good twenty minutes to write up a polite － somewhat apologetic and tinged with pleading － message asking Taeil for the favour. As expected, the older inquired if it were fragile and how important it was that it be kept hidden, but avoided asking what it was altogether. Kun couldn't be any more thankful.

After finally placing the order it was a basic waiting game of a few days, Kun's mind often drifting to the clothing soon set to arrive only to have excitement glow from his very being at the idea. It had been a long while since he had felt so genuinely interested and joyous about something, so even when he made his way to the 127 dorm after receiving a message from Taeil telling him his package had arrived with a heart sputtering like a run down car's engine, he'd jogged up the stairs, ignoring the way his feeble body was put under strain by the end of his journey, and almost bumped into Taeil who was waiting at the top with the package in hand, a warm smile on his face as he took some steps towards the second leader.

"Kun!" He greeted somewhat awkwardly, changing his hand that had instinctively jutted out for a handshake to a wave, "You've changed, wow."

Whether it was a positive change or not, Kun almost didn't care. He had two new skirts he might just look handsome in, most of his current confidence was relying on that fact.

"Taeil-hyung, hi," He offered a slight bow, "Thank you for helping me with this."

Still smiling, Taeil handed over the flat box and waved away Kun's words of gratitude, already having been subjected to them dozens of times, "Really no big deal, don't worry about it. I took care of it and made sure no one saw, by the way, so your secret's safe with me, whatever it is."

Kun nodded, gripping the package to his chest, chanting a victorious _'Finally!'_ in his head.

"I appreciate it, hyung, I genuinely do."

For a brief moment it seemed as though Taeil wanted to add something, perhaps verbalise a question, but it died before it could even make its way past his teeth and he glanced around.

"Well, sorry I can't stay and talk but I need to head out soon for vocal practice."

Kun sharply bowed, the smile on his face unshakeable.

"Of course, don't let me keep you. Have a good day, hyung."

"You too, Kun," A pause, "Don't hesitate to message me again if you ever need anything, even just to talk."

He'd spoken with his gaze lingering weightily on Kun's form, enough to have the latter momentarily uneasy, but then Taeil's expression lightened once more and he gave a final wave prior to re-entering through his dorm's door.

For a minute or so, Kun merely stood there, dazed. He could hear loud talking and laughter, some voices bursting into song coming from within the dorm, but his mind was fizzing like a soft drink as the realisition that he'd actually bought himself skirts set in.

He didn't let himself think it was weird; he couldn't bring himself to care about something like that, not when it made him feel so comfortable and handsome. Shaking himself awake, he hurried back to his own group's dorm, swiftly sweeping around a drowsy Dejun and a chattering YangYang who was making himself a slice of toast.

 _Perfect_ , Kun mentally cheered at the sight of them in the kitchen; he can go into their room and try on his new clothes right away.

His steps quickened, eyes honing in on the door left ajar, when his feet stumbled and his side collided with another body.

 _Not now, please, not now._ He was _so close_ to the bedroom.

It appeared he was the only one to fall from the crash, Yukhei still standing and then looming over him like an imposing giant. Kun ignored his toned, bare chest and broad shoulders to instead reach for his box and scuttle to his feet.

"Sorry, ge, I didn't see you coming," The younger apologised with a bashful smile, aiding his leader in standing again until his eyes caught sight of the package he clutched onto, "What's that?"

Kun stared up at the male, then down at his box, blinked, and returned his sight to the taller. His doe eyes were wide with a shade of fear Yukhei faintly picked up on, but any doubt he had was squashed when Kun squeezed an excuse out.

"It's a gift for a friend," His eyes flickered to the ground, "His birthday is coming up so . . ."

The words died on his lips and barely sounded believable to his own ears, but Yukhei's mouth rounded in understanding, humming as he then nodded.

"That's nice of you, ge! I hope he likes it!"

With a final clap to Kun's shoulder that had him swaying more than it should have, and a large grin on his mouth, Yukhei took off in a hurry for the kitchen, probably also wanting an afternoon snack.

He should cook dinner early for them that night after vacuuming the dorm's main area, seeing as how they were hungry.

Upon hearing the conversation between the other members get louder he scampered the rest of the way into his bedroom and locked the door after himself, only in the greater silence of the room hearing the way his breathing had become sharp and fast.

Kun hadn't wasted any time in stripping and ripping open his box, only becoming incredibly careful when it came to opening the plastic packets the two skirts were in. They were both soft to the touch, thin, perhaps shorter than he'd anticipated, but he slipped into his plaid one first, hoping with every fibre of his being that it fit over his fleshy thighs.

It fit.

The smile that painted itself across his lips was capable of lighting up the entire room, his fingers frantically tugging its small zip on the waist's side up and adjusting the cloth before running over to the mirror to look at himself. The skirt only reached the top part of his middle thigh, but its shortness made his legs look so thin and long. The wide waistband wrapped around his torso in a way that made Kun feel like a doll, no meat squeezing over its rim － though that was probably thanks to the skirt itself and not because he'd actually lost weight.

He wore the skirt for a little longer, spinning and twirling about the room, sitting on the edge of his bed and looking at his thighs as he swung his sock-clad feet, until he changed out of it to try on his second one, a pastel blue and almost fairy-like in style － at least that's how Kun saw it on himself. It made him look like a fairy.

The happiness bubbling within him was irrepressible, a soft giggle erupting from his lips as he watched himself move about in the mirror.

So it seemed all skirts made him look much prettier than he was, he noted almost scientifically. He should definitely try purchasing a dress or two next.

After finally succeeding in convincing himself to change and put on his pajamas, layered with his usual sweatshirt and hoodie, Kun made sure to tuck his new items at the bottom of the same drawer he'd been using and reminded himself to throw away the packaging he hid under his bed if he had the opportunity to do so.

When he rejoined the younger members in the kitchen, he padded in to find all of them there, some plates empty and some still with pieces of bread with chocolate spread on them. His stomach rumbled at the sight and Sicheng was quick to stand and put two slices into the toaster for him, only after the fact asking Kun, "Do you want some too?"

And Kun hesitated for a brief moment before nodding his head with a smile Sicheng instantly reciprocated.

"Yes, thanks," He allowed himself to say.

After all, he looked thin in his skirts.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tryBtUxMS8g

Perhaps he had grown far too much at ease with his new style of clothing, far too comfortable in his current body, enough that he'd started nibbling on food more often regardless if it were high in calories. He shouldn't have been so flabbergasted by the statement, but he was and the nausea that immediately followed felt partially foreign to him for the first time in a long while.

"You've gained almost three kilos," The head of their group's health team said, jotting down the number that had appeared on the scale once Kun stood on it, "Your weight is still under so it's fine enough."

Fine wasn't good and it was far from great.

Three kilos were a lot. How much had he truly slipped in his dieting to put on so much? Was he eating more than he thought he was? That morning he'd even got himself two pocket-sized chocolate bars. He was disgusting. An overweight, talentless pig that had no self control or respect for his members. Him performing and looking the way he did must be embarrassing to them. He must make them look pathetic.

The professional was still speaking but he only mindlessly nodded, politely bowed once they fell into silence and left through the door at the end.

The rest of WayV had already done their monthly weigh in, Kun having offered to go last so that they wouldn't have to wait for him, but he mildly regretted it when he saw that they were packing up their bags to head back to the dorms after sneaking in some dance practice. If Kun had gone first he may have had more chance to burn calories.

"Everything good?"

It was Ten who spoke to him, ripping a bite from his sugary, sticky cereal bar, and Kun looked away, nodding absent-mindedly. He was evidently distant, distracted, sight bouncing around the room before returning to the second oldest.

"Yeah, it went well," He lied with a deadpan expression, tone void of emotion. If he showed any emotion then, he may have broken down and he couldn't stand the mere idea of doing so, "Are you all heading back?"

Ten hummed, took a look around the members himelf before shrugging.

"Not much to practice yet and we have no upcoming performances for a while. We're probably gonna grab something to eat and hang out somewhere. You're coming too, right?"

It was clear the anticipated answer was a positive one. For the past few weeks it had been, and maybe the Kun of that very morning would have said yes, but the Kun of the present needed to readjust his priorities, cut down on his calorie intake and put more effort into cleaning up his skills so that he could be just those few inches closer to the standard of his friends.

"No, I think I'm going to run through a couple of the choreographies again, just to refresh my memory."

At that, Ten frowned, and from over the dancer's shoulder Kun could already see Sicheng coming their way. He couldn't allow himself to cave this time however, so he prepared to steel his resilience.

"Huh, are you staying behind, ge?"

Kun nodded, wordless, and Sicheng took one whole second to think before speaking.

"Alright, I'll keep you company －"

"I'd rather be alone."

It had left him a bit louder than intended, a weighted silence falling over the entirety of the open space room, eyes darting in their direction in curiousity, and Kun wanted to pull at his hair in frustration.

"Are you sure?" Sicheng tentatively insisted, voice quiet as though he knew the other members were listening in, "We can go over things together and －"

"I want to be alone," Kun shuddered an exhale, felt thorns bloom in his lungs at the sight of corncern and hurt marring Sicheng's sweet features, and pushed past the two of them to avoid seeing it long enough that it'd be imprinted in his mind's eye. It didn't work. When he blinked all he could see was Sicheng.

"Damn okay, no need to be so rough."

Ten had grumbled it under his breath and Kun could hear Sicheng feverishly whispering at him to stay quiet but Kun knew the former was right. He had no right to be rude when his members were being caring.

He turned, somewhat, strained a smile both their way and gave a minimal bow of his head.

"Sorry, I've just got a bit of a headache that's putting me in a bad mood," He swallowed, managed to hold their dubious gazes for a couple instances prior to glancing at the other members who had seemingly lost interest in the situation they couldn't properly follow, "I appreciate the offer but I'm going to try work it away for a bit. Send me a message when you're back at the dorms tonight and I'll come cook, okay?"

"It's fine," Ten went to reply when Sicheng remained in silence, watching Kun in a way that had the leader itching to squirm, "We'll tell you a bit before hand so that you don't have to rush back. Remember to drink."

"I will."

A pause, dense and suffocating, and then Ten clasped Sicheng's wrist and led them away and to the exit.

"Later then."

"Later."

The door slammed shut, the echo of it resounding off of the empty white walls, piercing Kun's eardrums as he stood stock still, alone in a quicksand pit he couldn't pull himself out of. He could feel it happening, that shift in his posture, his breathing, his thoughts.

He was disgusting, selfish and useless.

His fingers fisted at his stomach, dragged their nails along the thick material, the pale skin of his cheeks, and he struggled to find any fat to grab but it was there, he knew it was there or else he wouldn't weigh so much or look so big. The skirts had lied to him, he wasn't thin or pretty. He hadn't lost weight nor was he getting any better. He was a field of dead grass simply waiting to catch fire, and he was burning. Burning to nothing but charred bits of what could have been and what should have been, but he couldn't stop it.

He plugged the speakers in again and put on the first track he could find, setting a small playlist of five songs around it to loop endlessly until he could do all of them without a single mistake.

He danced as tears spilled from his eyes and splashed to the floor with his sweat, he danced with his lungs stinging and muscles aching, ceaselessly and stubbornly moving as well as he could to the unending melodies. Sobs obstructed his breathing, the pang of starvation in his stomach increasing but he didn't care, he couldn't. He deserved to feel this pain, it was a bonus for him that the hunger would help him lose weight.

Minutes were calculated only in the amount of times each song played and his value as an artist in the amount of times he messed up a move. He cursed when he did, punched at his stomach when its particularly loud growls would throw him off tempo, and only scarcely processed the sound of his own rasps for air during the transitions between songs.

Was it the third or fourth time the playlist had started over? He'd lost count amidst his savage self-loathing and cries that came out as strangled noises. He could feel his sight dimming, the world dissolving to dark splotches, his limbs growing heavier － but he persisted. He kept going until his knees crumpled beneath him like sticks of folded paper and he found himself with the side of his face pressed to the filthy floor, helpless.

He couldn't lift a finger, he couldn't breathe, he couldn't hear. All he could do was think. Think that he should have done better, that he should keep going, that he was going to die there on the ground like a sorry excuse of a human being.

The tears never stopped leaking from his eyes, pooling around his left cheek and wetting the side of his head. He tried and failed to move, push himself off the ground and just breathe properly, but the effort only made his condition worse and everything was thrown into a melting pot of darkness and silence.

When he awoke it was to a skullsplitting pain in his head and an ache along each nerve of his body, music still loudly playing even if being perceived as nothing but slurred noise by his deaf ears. His legs had fallen numb, as had parts of his face and hands, but he tried to move anyway as the fog in his mind slowly cleared and let panic set in. For how long had he been there? Had the others already gone home and were waiting for him? As if on cue, he heard the dull vibration of his phone coming from where he'd tossed it on top of his bag. One vibration meant a message.

Again, he garnered all strength he had left but found it could only keep his front off the ground. He was tired, frustrated, scared he'd worried his friends. No matter how it hurt and no matter how difficult it was, he had to see if the message was from one of them and reply, so he propped himself up on his elbows and crawled, using the tips of his shoes to help push himself towards his bag.

His mind went numb as his glazed eyes honed in on his notifications, phone clutched between a set of weak and quivering fingers. A little over two hours had passed since he'd fainted, the time then reading half past eight in the evening, and he scrolled to find a hefty amount of messages on the group's general chat and a little less than a dozen from the members directly asking if he was still practicing, adding that they'd be home in about twenty minutes. That was three quarters of an hour ago, and the only message since then was from Chenle who had sent him a picture of his dog sleeping.

Letting out a breath of relief, he shakily rubbed the crusted salt from his eyes and cheeks and went into the group chat.

_Are you home already?? Sorry i losttrack of time ^^;_

_I'm on my way!!!_

He got thumbs up's and smiley emoticons, a couple cheers and a silly candid picture of Kunhang on behalf of Dejun. Kun smiled. What a relief, he hadn't alarmed anyone. Now he just had to stand and make his way back to the dorm.

It was an arduous goal to achieve, but with determination and sheer will Kun succeeded in getting onto his two feet, shaking life into his numb limbs and turning off the music. The walk home was only minimally easier, what with the brisk breeze nipping at his exposed skin and keeping him alert. By the time he stood at the dorm's door however, toeing off his sneakers and letting them join the heap of others at the entryway, he had depleted himself of any back-up energy he'd stored within, leaving him to be a lifeless shell.

"Mama Kun is back!"

It was YangYang who made the announcement that could probably be heard from the street below, but Kun didn't have any desire to oppose the nickname, offering a weary smile at the youngest who came bounding happily towards him carrying the scent of nicotine and sugar. Kun momentarily scowled and took a stronger whiff of air, the brunet setting his head askew in bewilderment before understanding clicked in his head and he quickly crossed his forearms in a strong no.

"I didn't smoke, it was Xuxi!"

"Ah," Kun allowed his shoulders to sag, "Okay, fine then. Well, any requests for dinner?"

YangYang hummed in thought as he followed the leader to the kitchen, tapping his chin and squinting upwards.

"I'm not sure," He eventually fruitlessly offered, a ginger smile on his lips, "We all ended up eating a lot so I don't think we're too hungry. Besides," YangYang hesitated, giving the older a mildly concerned look prior to contuining, "you look really tired, ge. Maybe you should go sleep instead."

Shoulders squaring and sight tearing away from the innocent stare of the other, Kun shook his head, smiling, "How about just some fried eggs then?"

"Sounds great!"

Kun did a little clap, automatically going to the sink to wash his hands, "Do me a favour and see who wants one －"

"Guys!" YangYang's shrill yell cut Kun off, bringing him to jolt and grimace badly enough that he was grateful he'd been hunched over the sink and facing away from the younger, "Who wants a fried egg?!"

A messy chorus of "Me!" 's ensued, and YangYang hopped cheerily up to Kun's side like a pleased puppy asking for a reward after completing a trick. It was something he did often and that consistently melted Kun's heart into a steaming pot of fondness and affection, which was why he flapped his hands dry and proceeded to tousle the younger's hair.

"Thanks, silly."

"Anytime, ge!"

With the ghost of a smile lingering on his lips he greeted the members as they arrived one by one, setting a plate with an egg and a slice of golden toast before each of them.

"Sorry I didn't prepare anything better," He murmured distractedly, setting the used pan and utensils in the sink to wash the following day.

"Don't worry about it, we ate enough before coming back."

Yukhei had spoken through a full mouth stretched into a reassuring grin that had Kun endeared, before the former pointed the end of his fork at him and he had to look away.

"Where's yours, ge?"

Sicheng's eyes darted in their direction at the casual inquiry, then flitting from every plate as if counting them to see if there was one set aside for Kun. The disappointment on his face when he noticed that there indeed wasn't one had the oldest's stomach churning with guilt.

"I ate on the way here," He quickly threw in, side-eyeing Sicheng to see if he believed him, "You know, at the usual place I go to."

Whether Sicheng swallowed the lie or not Kun couldn't discern but Yukhei bobbed his head in understanding, reaching for his glass of water to rinse his mouth out before speaking again.

"You go there often, ge. You should take me with you sometime."

Kun tensed his cheeks into a feigned smile and laughed.

"Sure, I'd love to," He stole a second furtive look Sicheng's way and sighed, "Well, I'm beat so I'm off to bed. Goodnight, guys."

A wave of farewells carried him off into the hall, only coming to an end when he called over his shoulder, "Put your plates in the sink!" and received a sole "Okay!" in response, then shutting his door and allowing his shoulders to droop.

Finally alone again, he couldn't bring himself to get changed nor to shower. The last thing he wanted to see was his horrid body, touch it or care for it. He just wanted to hide, escape to someplace where he didn't need to exist and live in that freedom, so he pulled back his bed covers and clambered under them, ignoring his voice of reason telling him his clothes were filthy and should be nowhere near his sheets.

He didn't care, he couldn't.


End file.
